LADY TEAZLE. No—no I begin to think it would be imprudent—and you know I admit you as a Lover no farther than Fashion requires.
SURFACE. True—a mere Platonic Cicisbeo, what every London wife is entitled to.
LADY TEAZLE. Certainly one must not be out of the Fashion—however, I have so much of my country Prejudices left—that—though Sir Peter's ill humour may vex me ever so, it never shall provoke me to——
SURFACE. The only revenge in your Power—well I applaud your moderation.
LADY TEAZLE. Go—you are an insinuating Hypocrite—but we shall be miss'd—let us join the company.
SURFACE. True, but we had best not return together.
LADY TEAZLE. Well don't stay—for Maria shan't come to hear any more of your Reasoning, I promise you—
[Exit.]
SURFACE. A curious Dilemma truly my Politics have run me into. I wanted at first only to ingratiate myself with Lady Teazle that she might not be my enemy with Maria—and I have I don't know how—become her serious Lover, so that I stand a chance of Committing a Crime I never meditated—and probably of losing Maria by the Pursuit!—Sincerely I begin to wish I had never made such a Point of gaining so very good a character, for it has led me into so many curst Rogueries that I doubt I shall be exposed at last.
[Exit.]